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There was some sort of argument out in the waiting room, but Alaena had zero intention of paying it any mind. She still had seven minutes of her break left and she was not budging until that time was up, no matter how big and tough some idiot thought he was. This was an Outer Rim medcenter, and anyone who worked here saw more hardened criminals in an hour than he’d probably seen in his lifetime. No one was stupid enough to cross their establishment either, no matter how small and out of the way it was. Asernel the Hutt wanted an out-of-the-way medcenter on Mnad’el to smuggle his drugs through and fix up his goons, and that was what he got. If the galaxy’s unwanted got a place they could quietly get patched up without getting noticed, well, it was just a nice bonus for the scum of the area, and nice insurance for anyone who worked here.
Footsteps, and Yuuli burst through the door. “Come back, I got a patient for you.”
“I’m on break.”
“Please, Alaena, I really need you for this one.”
“Is it whoever was making a fuss out there?” Alaena rolled her eyes. “You know, if you really think I’m the only medic you’ve got who can handle these idiots, tell Tempor he needs to hire better staff.”
“Alaena,” pleaded Yuuli, her headtails twisting anxiously, but then she stepped in close and whispered, “It’s a Mandalorian.”
Alaena had broken herself of the habit of touching the mythosaur crest she wore on a chain under her shirt long ago, but right now and with only her friend around, she couldn’t help it. “A Mandalorian?”
“He’s got some weird alien kid with him and he’s losing his mind over whatever’s wrong with it but isn’t settling down or telling us what’s wrong until we get him some kind of medic. Will you please see him? You’d probably know how to deal with him best.”
Alaena sighed. But her foremothers and forefathers were watching from the manda, and she would not disappoint them. She tucked her datapad back in her locker, brushed her hair away from her horns and retied it, and headed back into her office.
Calling it an office was a joke, but she liked jokes, and even if it was tiny and the equipment crammed into it was ten years out of date and she didn’t even have a proper desk for her computer because the exam table took up most of the room, she at least kept it clean and she didn’t need the best from the Core to work miracles on yet another dumb criminal who overestimated how far the blast radius would be.
Although if it was a Mandalorian bringing it what was likely a foundling, she could at least hope he wouldn’t be that particular breed of stupid.
She’d barely gotten her things organized before Yuuli returned, opening the door and scooting as far away from Alaena’s new patients as possible. “This is Alaena Cadera,” she said.
The Mandalorian nodded, and it took Alaena a moment to remember to welcome him. It’d been so long since she’d seen one of the distinctive helmets of her people, and now not only was she facing a Mandalorian but one clad entirely in beskar, like he’d walked right out of one of her childhood storybooks. If that wasn’t strange enough, in his arms was a crying child like none she’d ever seen, wrinkled and green but still clearly a youngling and fussing like one.
Yuuli all but fled, leaving Alaena alone with the Mandalorian. The door slid shut behind him.
“Sit,” said Alaena finally, gesturing at the chair, and the Mandalorian sat. The child cried, struggling in its father’s arms, and the Mandalorian bounced it gently, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Alaena pulled up a fresh file on her computer to give them a moment before asking, “So, what brings you here today?”
The Mandalorian wrestled the fussing child out of the blanket cocoon he’d been wrapped in to show her. “His foot,” he said, barely managing to catch it before the baby squalled and pulled it out of his grasp, but Alaena got a brief glimpse of what was definitely a major cut. “I don’t know what he stepped on to get it, but it was big and causing him a lot of pain, and now it’s infected.”
Alaena dutifully noted the information in the computer before asking, “What symptoms is he having?”
“He’s in pain,” said the Mandalorian; Alaena could hear the worry in his voice, unfiltered by the modulator or the baby’s continual wails. “It’s leaking pus, or something similar that’s greenish. And last night he spiked a fever.”
Alaena recorded that too. “What species is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Alaena did her best to keep a sabacc face as she looked over at the Mandalorian.
“He’s adopted,” offered the Mandalorian.
“I figured,” said Alaena dryly. “If I don’t know the species, it’s going to be hard for me to know what might help or what might hurt him.”
“I don’t know,” repeated the Mandalorian, and the frantic edge to his voice convinced Alaena he was telling the truth. He rocked the crying child a bit before offering, “He’s carnivorous. If that helps.”
“Noted.” Alaena did as she said before saying, “Can you put him on the table so I can take a look at him?”
Wresting the child out of his blanket cocoon was a challenge; the baby pulled the blanket closer, whining, and when the Mandalorian finally pried it out of his grasp and set him on the table he screamed in terror, clutching his parent’s arm in a grip stronger than the tiny fingers should be capable of. The Mandalorian dealt with it with endless patience, trying in vain to soothe the child. Alaena waited awkwardly, wondering if she should offer to help, but in her clan at least, one did not simply interfere between a Mandalorian and their child without invitation.
The Mandalorian tried to withdraw, but every time he did the child stood on his feet and wobbled towards him, even though he limped terribly and howled with the pain it was clearly causing. Finally the Mandalorian asked her, “Can’t I hold him?”
“I need him alone on the table for it to pick up his vitals. Old tech.” She rapped her knuckles on it with a rueful smile. “But since he’s not having it, can you hold him while I look at the injury?”
“Yes,” said the Mandalorian, sounding relieved, and the child quieted down as soon as he was back on his father’s lap. Alaena waited for the Mandalorian to get the child’s foot in his grasp, but as soon as she approached the child shrieked and tried to squirm away, clearly terrified.
“Hey!” The Mandalorian grabbed him with his free hand, the other already holding out his injured foot. “Hey, it’s all right. Let her look at your foot.”
Alaena was usually asked to deal with their rougher clients and not any children that came through, but she put on her friendliest smile anyway. “Let me see, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”
She caught the foot and between her and the Mandalorian, it was held still, even though the poor child’s screams tore through her eardrums and her heart. She worked quickly, trying to be as gentle as possible. Everything she saw indicated the Mandalorian was correct - there was an infection. The wound was oversized, leaking greenish pus, and judging from the increasing screams, very painful.
She let go and the baby all but flung himself at his parent, tiny claws scrabbling at the chestplate. The Mandalorian held him close, shushing him softly; the baby quieted down to miserable sniffles, though Alaena knew that wouldn’t last long.
“That’s probably going to need cleaning. And I still need his vitals, especially temperature,” said Alaena. “And since you don’t know his species, I need a blood sample too, so I can analyze it for medicine compatibility and see if there’s any other complications.”
“Complications?” repeated the Mandalorian.
“Just a precaution,” said Alaena reassuringly. Kids followed parents and the last thing she needed was the Mandalorian getting any more upset; she couldn’t see his face but his voice strongly hinted that under the armor, he wasn’t handling this much better than his kid. “It’s likely an infection, like you said, and a blood analysis would also give me a good estimate of what antibiotic would be best for his species.”
He absently patted the baby’s back. “I understand.” He sighed. “But he’s not… he’s not usually like this, and he’s been throwing a fit for the last two days whenever I put him down, and -” He shrugged helplessly. “He’s not himself. Usually he doesn’t mind new people or places, but…”
“Has he been in a medcenter before?” asked Alaena.
“No.” The Mandalorian suddenly froze, then gently traced a finger along one of the oversized ears. “Well, he… I rescued him from a lab. Sort of like this.”
“Oh.” That made everything make a lot more sense. Alaena didn’t consider herself the soppy sort but her sympathetic look was genuine this time. “Poor thing, he’s gotta be scared to death.”
The Mandalorian said nothing, but held his child closer. The baby whimpered, giving his parent a look that was almost pleading.
“How, uh, developed is he?” asked Alaena finally. “Will he understand if I talk to him?”
The Mandalorian shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think he understands some things, but I can never tell if he really does, or if he just chooses not to listen. He doesn’t talk.”
“What’s his name?” Their kind of medcenter didn’t usually ask for names, so she quickly added, “Will he feel better if I address him by name?”
The Mandalorian shifted in his chair. “No name.”
“No worries.” Alaena leaned forward. “Hey there, little one.”
The baby whined, pressing himself closer to his father, but Alaena reached out and gently touched his hand, which he quickly withdrew. “Hey. My name’s Alaena Cadera. I’m a medic.”
She waited a moment, and was rewarded with the head tilting and one dark eye staring at her cautiously. She smiled, even if she felt a little silly talking to a youngling like this. “Your daddy brought you here so I can help you. That’s my job. I’m not going to hurt you.” She reached out again, catching one of the tiny fingers, and this time the child waited a moment before pulling it back out of her grip.
Now the hard part. “I know you want to stay with your daddy, but I need you to sit on the table by yourself. Just for a minute, then you can go right back to him. All right?”
The child stared at her, but if he understood, gave no indication. Alaena took a deep breath. This would be the hard part. “Okay. Can you hand him to me, and stand back just out of reach from the table?”
The tenseness in his body was enough to tell Alaena that the Mandalorian did not like this at all, but he clearly liked his child being sick even less. “You go with her for a minute,” he told the kid. “Just a minute.”
The second he held him out, the kid freaked, struggling wildly and screaming his head off. Alaena nabbed him as fast as she dared, trying to be as unthreatening and gentle as possible as she set him on the table and set its computer to run vitals. “Daddy’s right there,” she said, trying to sound soothing, “he’s right there, okay?”
She was certain the Mandalorian looked as miserable as the kid under his helmet. “Ad’ika, ad’ika, udesii,” he pleaded, “udesii, ni olar.”
Her heart ached at the sound of her language; she hadn’t heard a word of it in years, except when she whispered it to herself, and she swallowed the urge to echo the Mando’a. “You’re all right,” she repeated to the child, “you’re all right, Daddy’s still here.” The child at least stayed seated on the table, though he was reaching for his father with an expression so frightened it made Alaena feel like a monster for demanding the kid go through basic medical care.
The table’s old computer seemed to take forever, the baby screaming and heedless of her and the Mandalorian trying to soothe him, but at least he stayed sitting and didn’t try to bolt on his injured foot. Finally it beeped a completion notice at her, and she wasted no time in picking up the child and depositing him in his father’s waiting arms. “There we go, back to Daddy.”
The child clawed at his father, howling, and didn’t settle until he was able to latch his tiny fingers into the cloak around the Mandalorian’s neck. The Mandalorian patted his back, murmuring “Udesii, ad’ika, ni olar, ni olar.”
Alaena turned to her readouts, refusing to think of her own father soothing her with the same words.
Without knowing the species the computer couldn’t be as precise as she’d like, but with the weight plugged in along with her estimate of it being similar to a toddler developmentally, it was able to tell her he was running a fever and had an elevated heartbeat, although Alaena knew that had to be from being distressed. “Has he had any nausea?” she asked the Mandalorian.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s been hard to get him to eat, but he hasn’t thrown any of it up.”
“It is an infection, I can tell you that,” said Alaena, turning around to face her patients. “It needs antibiotics to clear up, but without knowing the species, I can’t know what type will be most helpful or most harmful. I need a blood sample. With that analyzed, I can make the safest choice possible for him.”
The Mandalorian patted his child, who sniffled miserably into his cloak. “He’s… not going to like that.”
“I know,” said Alaena sympathetically.
The Mandalorian was still clearly wavering, and while Alaena usually didn’t have the patience for it, she thought he and the kid deserved some. Finally he asked, “What do you do with the data?”
“We don’t store any here,” said Alaena automatically. He wasn’t the only one who came here who worried about that. “It gets purged after your appointment unless you specifically ask us to keep it on file, like if you think you’d be back.”
He tilted his head, considering, and Alaena offered, “I could put it on a data tape for you, though, if you wanted to keep it.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“I’ll do that, then.” She gave him and the baby her most reassuring look, then asked, “Do I have your consent to take a blood sample?”
The Mandalorian sighed, looking down at his kid, but finally said “Yes.”
Oh, this was not going to be fun. “All right, see if you can get him to sit on the table.”
“Can’t I hold him?”
Alaena opened her drawer of syringes, searching for the smallest size she had. “I was going to suggest you hold on to him, but I still need him set down so I can reach him easily.”
She got her supplies ready, listening to the baby fuss and the Mandalorian trying to reassure him in a mix of Basic and Mando’a. She kept the needle hidden, instead only bringing over her cleaning supplies; the Mandalorian had gotten the baby to sit on the table, his hands still holding him around his middle, but the kid looked ready to bolt and flinched when Alaena got close.
“I know, I know,” she said, her heart aching. “Daddy’s got you, okay? I’m gonna need your arm.” She showed him the bottle of disinfectant and the wipe. “Just cleaning it. It won’t hurt.”
The child flinched away from her as she got close, and whined when she took his arm, but at least let her wipe it clean and inspect it for a vein. It was difficult to see under the green skin, but the table’s computer helpfully indicated there should be one in the arm similar enough to Zabraks like her that it shouldn’t be impossible. Hopefully she could do this without traumatizing her little patient forever. But she needed him to be still.
Weighing her options, she decided it was very unlikely he’d stay this cooperative. “Can I have you help me?” she asked the Mandalorian.
“What do you need?” he asked without hesitation.
“You’re not going to like it,” she warned him, “but I need him kept still for this to go as smoothly and quickly as possible.”
To his credit, the Mandalorian still nodded at her, and said again, “What do you need?”
The baby whimpered as Alaena helped his father lay him on his back and hold out the arm she’d cleaned. “Hold him here,” she said, guiding one of the Mandalorian’s hands onto his stomach. “And the other, hold his hand out.”
The child was so tiny that just the Mandalorian’s thumb filled his entire palm. The little fingers grasped his father’s tightly; the baby looked up at his parent, frightened but trusting. Alaena swallowed. “I need you to hold him still,” she said. “I have no doubt he’s not going to like getting his blood drawn, but I need him completely still. He is very small and I want to be as careful as possible. Can you do that?”
The Mandalorian nodded.
“It might help if you can distract him,” Alaena offered. A distraction might help both of them. “A song, or a game like peekaboo, or something.”
The kid chirruped worriedly at his father, and the Mandalorian started to murmur to him. He spoke very softly, but Alaena caught a few words and recognized it as a Mandalorian rhyme, one her own parents had taught her. Now she had a little one to take care of, and even if it wasn’t hers, he was still a Mandalorian, and she would do right by him.
The child liked the rhyme, cooing back at his father and ignoring Alaena when she wiped down his arm again, but the second he spotted the needle in her hand there was no more distracting him. He shrieked in fear, and shrieked more when he tried to pull away and couldn’t move.
“I know, I know,” said Alaena, trying to locate the vein as fast as she could. To his credit, the Mandalorian held firm, even though the child’s wails had to be worse for him than it was for Alaena. “Daddy’s still got you,” she told the kid as she got a good grip on his arm, “You’re okay, Daddy’s here.”
She kept her eye on the computer screen and her patient, refusing to let her concentration waver, and with the computer’s help located a vein on the first try. She took as much blood as she dared - she needed enough for a proper analysis, but he was tiny and even a little too much could be dangerous - before withdrawing the needle, setting a bandage on the opening, and telling the Mandalorian, “Okay, you can let go.”
The words were barely out and the baby was back in his father’s arms. The Mandalorian held him close, rocking him and whispering, “Ni ceta, ni ceta, gar ori kotep, ad’ika.”
Alaena capped her sample and told him “I’m going to get this analyzed; I’ll be back in a few minutes,” and left. The child would probably calm down easier without her anywhere near him, and she needed a moment away from the sound of Mando’a.
Mechanically she found the lab room and the blood analysis machine, setting in what parameters she knew before inserting the baby’s blood sample. She’d done it plenty of times and the work was easy, which was good, because all she could hear was her father’s voice in her head right now.
Her clan had never had close ties to Mandalore itself, even though they’d existed for well over three thousand years, brought back into prominence when the Champion of the Great Hunt chose one of the few remaining members of the disgraced Cadera clan for her riduur after he redeemed his clan from his father’s betrayal . The two of them had been great warriors and adopted more themselves, strengthening the clan for generations to come. She knew the stories well; her clan took pride in their history, on being offered redemption by their forefather and a return to glory by the Champion.
Now they were scattered again. Her father had been killed in the Empire’s purge, she had no idea where her mother was, and while she and her siblings had stayed together for a time, their mother’s last advice had been to split and hide, so eventually they’d parted. Their surviving aunts and uncle and cousins had scattered as well. Alaena knew where her brothers and sister had gone, but it was too dangerous to contact them unless there was an emergency, so she didn’t. It was better to keep the clan safe, even if it was lonely.
Very lonely.
The machine beeped at her and spat out a whole ream of data that she sent straight to her computer while reviewing it. The computer couldn’t identify the species, but luckily it wasn’t too outlandish for it to recommend an antibiotic. She had it recommend other medications, too; she could copy that onto the data tape and hopefully it would help the Mandalorian if his child was hurt or sick in the future. She sent a command to Kerko in the pharmacy to get to work on the appropriate amounts and dosage before retrieving her sample and walking out of the lab.
She returned to her office, finding the Mandalorian cradling his child on his shoulder and rocking him gently. The child was quieter now, though he still whined as soon as he caught sight of Alaena. “Good news,” she said without preamble, “I found an antibiotic that should be compatible with his system.”
“Good,” said the Mandalorian emphatically.
“I also ran an analysis on other kinds of medicine that should be compatible with his species,” said Alaena. “Fever reducers, pain relievers, that sort of thing. Ordered some of those too, along with the antibiotic, and you can hang on to them. Even if you don’t need them now, you might later.”
“Thank you,” said the Mandalorian with genuine relief in his voice.
“I already sent in the request and it should be ready soon,” said Alaena. Kerko worked fast, a benefit of having four arms. “The only other thing I believe I should do is clean the wound and see if it needs stitches.”
She reminded herself the helmet was unchanging and could not actually be giving her an apprehensive look, though there was no mistaking the way he held the baby closer.
Of course, she wasn’t actually thrilled herself to do it or bring up what she had to suggest next. “We’ve got two options. Either you can help me hold him down again, or I can give him a mild sedative that will put him out long enough for me to work.” She gestured helplessly at the child, who was fussing again, as if he really did understand what she was saying. “It’s not ideal, but it’s delicate work and I need him to stay still. It’s your choice. You know best what would be less upsetting for him.”
The Mandalorian shifted the fussing child in his arms for a moment before asking, “Will it hurt him?”
“I have a numbing gel I use,” she said. “He won’t feel it.”
“What about the sedative?” he asked. “You said it would be difficult to know what he can safely take.”
“That was part of the blood sample analysis,” Alaena said. “It identified a sedative that should be safe for him. He’s young and he’s small so I’d only be giving him a very small dosage. There is a small risk of adverse effects, like with any sedative, but with him on the table I can monitor him throughout the whole process and administer the antidote if needed.”
The child whined, and the Mandalorian bounced him gently. Alaena waited patiently. She didn’t envy him the decision. She wouldn’t have suggested sedation at all, but she doubted the little one would stay still for her, and with the work she had to do so delicate and on such a small scale, she didn’t want to risk mistakes.
“Can we try and see if he’ll sit for you?” asked the Mandalorian finally. “And if he doesn’t…”
“Of course,” said Alaena.
She got her supplies ready, concealing the tray as much as possible when she brought it over. It was a repeat of before, the baby wailing miserably despite his father trying to soothe him and persuade him to sit, and as soon as she approached the baby tried to climb up his father’s arms.
“She’s trying to help you, ad’ika,” said the Mandalorian, trying to set him back down and failing. “She’s going to fix your foot.”
“You’re all right, little one,” said Alaena, trying to sound soothing, waiting for the Mandalorian’s nod of assent before helping him guide the child to lay down. “Daddy’s going to stay here with you, don’t worry, it’s okay.”
But it was clearly not okay in the child’s eyes. Alaena knew he was terrified of her, and she knew there was no changing that, if what the Mandalorian had said about finding him in a lab was true. Who knew how many other people in white coats had pinned him down and prodded him with medical tools without any care for his comfort? All the kind words in the galaxy couldn’t overcome that. Overall she was at peace with the fact that she technically worked for the Hutt Cartel; she did enough to balance out that sin most days. But she wasn’t stupid, and she knew there were far darker corners of the galaxy than she’d ever faced, and that even children weren’t spared from the horrors of underworld scientists and the black market.
For the Mandalorian’s sake she tried one last time to catch his foot and hold it, to at least get the numbing gel on it. But the child tore the foot out of her grasp, so hard she almost stumbled backwards, like an invisible hand had shoved her.
She didn’t care about any strangeness right now, though. “I’m sorry,” she told the Mandalorian, “but I don’t think this is going to work unless he’s sedated.”
He sighed, but nodded. “Do you… do you have to give him an injection again?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I have to hold him down again?”
She gave him a sympathetic look, thinking fast. “I think I can do something else, with you holding him, as long as you put him down as soon as I give him the shot. I want him monitored the whole time, to be safe.”
The Mandalorian nodded, scooping his child back up and cradling him close, murmuring in Mando’a again. Alaena was surprised he kept being so free with it, but clearly he had bigger things on his mind, and it must be comforting to the child.
She double-checked the computer to be absolutely sure she was giving the child the right sedative, once again finding her smallest syringe and ensuring she got the dosage correct. She kept it out of sight when she turned around to her patients. “Can you hold him upright, and turn his head so he can’t see me?”
The Mandalorian did so, although the child’s whining indicated he wasn’t fooled for a moment. Alaena lifted the robe and onesie underneath enough to expose the child’s thigh, and the Mandalorian held the clothes for her while she wiped it clean. The child started to cry. “I know, I know,” said Alaena. “Just a little poke. And Daddy’s still gonna be here, I promise.”
“Ni olar, ni olar,” said the Mandalorian softly, and Alaena was able to give the child the injection without as much trouble as she’d feared.
She had to remind the Mandalorian that he needed to put the kid down now. The kid whined, reaching back up and grasping one of the Mandalorian’s fingers, but his eyes were already drooping and his protests much quieter as he was laid down. “It’s okay,” said Alaena. “You just rest, and Daddy will be here when you wake up.”
The child chirred irritably at her, but after that his eyes finally shut and his breathing evened and he was out. The Mandalorian gently stroked his head, his finger still held in the child’s grasp.
Alaena gave him a moment before reminding him, “I need you to not touch him for the readings to be completely accurate,” and the Mandalorian complied.
Alaena set to work; she wanted to be done by the time the sedative wore off, which wouldn’t be long. The Mandalorian watched her, the way he stood by the table unable to be described as anything else but hovering. “How long?” he asked finally.
“He’ll be out fifteen to twenty minutes,” said Alaena. “Not long. It’ll be enough for me to take care of the wound.”
The Mandalorian watched her like a hawk-bat as she inspected the cut; normally Alaena would be annoyed, but it was clearly parental concern and in this case she couldn’t really bring herself to hold it against him. “Is it bad?” he asked.
“No, the antibiotics should take care of it. I’ll just want to give them a good start by draining this. It shouldn’t need stitches, just bandaging.” Now that she could really study the cut, it didn’t look half as bad as she’d feared. It might not have been infected at all with some precautions. “If he cut himself while going barefoot, you should probably have him wear shoes of some sort.”
“I tried when this happened,” said the Mandalorian. “Took them off soon as my back was turned no matter what I did. Bandaging too.”
“You’ll have to figure that one out then,” said Alaena. “It should be bandaged until it heals. Take the bandages off for a bit to let it breathe when you change them every day, but otherwise cover it.”
He nodded and continued watching. Alaena couldn’t see his eyes behind the helmet, but she knew they were following every movement of her hands and her tools. She never was a fan of an audience but she worked diligently anyway. Fortunately not much of an abscess had formed, and a small incision was all she needed to let the pus drain. She narrated what she was doing to fill the silence, and for the benefit of the Mandalorian. She’d yet to meet one who liked a blade near their child, even a scalpel being handled by a medic, and she had to ask him twice to back up and give her some elbow room.
Despite the miniature scale of her patient, the work was straightforward and simple, and it really wasn’t that long before she was finally affixing a bacta patch to the wound. Her patient’s toes twitched in his sleep, and remembering what the Mandalorian had said about him not leaving bandaging on, she used gauze to wrap a makeshift bootie in between the toes and around the tiny foot. “There,” she said. “Even if he tries to take that off, it should take him a bit, so hopefully you’ll notice and put a stop to it in time.”
“You’re underestimating him,” said the Mandalorian dryly. “But thanks.” He reached out, running his fingers lightly over his child’s forehead. “He’ll wake up soon?”
“Yes.” Alaena double-checked the table’s computer, even though she’d been watching it about as intensely as the Mandalorian had been watching her. “Probably in the next five minutes or so. He’ll be groggy for a while, but that’ll be from getting blood drawn too. Even a little would be a lot, because he’s so small.”
The Mandalorian’s hand stilled. “He’ll be all right?” he asked, not looking up from his child, and there was no missing the worry in his voice.
“He’ll be all right,” said Alaena. She took a deep breath, hesitated, but then made her decision. “He is mandokarla.”
The word hung in the air between them. Slowly, the Mandalorian looked up at her.
“That word. How do you know it?” he finally asked, his tone accusing.
Alaena snorted. “How do you think, Mando’ad?”
His gaze was so hard she could almost feel it. “Dar’manda?”
Alaena’s lip curled at the sheer gall. “No.”
“You don’t wear the armor. You have no helmet. You don’t follow the Way.”
“There’s more than one way to follow the Resol’nare,” snapped Alaena. “We heard of the tribes who took on the old ways, but we agreed to protect the clan by staying hidden in plain sight. Just because we don’t wear the armor openly doesn’t mean we have forgotten.” She was leaning forward so aggressively her crest slipped from her shirt; quickly, she tucked it back away. The other medics and workers almost always knocked, but Yuuli was her only friend here who knew who she truly was, and she wanted to keep it that way. “I just wanted you to know you could trust me. I wouldn’t harm a foundling, or betray either of you to the Hutts,” muttered Alaena. “I know it’s hard, being on your own.”
The Mandalorian stared at her for a moment, but then reached for his child and pulled a mythosaur crest like hers from under the little one’s coat to show her, before tucking it back away. “N'eparavu takisit, vod,” he said quietly.
Alaena nodded, accepting the apology. “The Cadera clan has always looked out for our people. You come here, you ask for me, and I’ll look after you or your foundling. The Empire tried to destroy us, but we are not alone.”
The Mandalorian nodded, and echoed, “We are not alone.”
There was a whine and their attention instantly went to the little one on the table. His face scrunched up, his fists clumsily wiping at his eyes, and as soon as they opened and saw Alaena he started crying.
“Ni olar, ni olar,” said the Mandalorian, stroking his son’s head. Alaena quickly checked the monitor but there were no warnings, so she told the Mandalorian, “You can pick him up.”
Instantly the child was cradled in his father’s arms, his cries dying down to sniffles as he buried his face in his father’s cloak, fingers sluggishly grasping at the fabric. Alaena watched the reactions with a critical eye, but given that he’d just been sedated and had blood drawn, he was actually doing pretty well for a being so small.
The door slid open and the Mandalorian instantly turned around, hand on his blaster. Yuuli jumped half a mile, her lekku curling anxiously and her violet face going pale.
“It’s fine,” Alaena said to them both.
“Here’s the medications you ordered,” said Yuuli, her eyes never leaving the Mandalorian. She handed Alaena the little bag of bottles and darted away. Alaena chuckled to herself. Occasionally she missed the armor, because being intimidating could be useful, but most of the time she was content to be a comforting presence. She’d always been better at fixing people than fighting them anyway.
“This one’s the antibiotic,” said Alaena, holding up the blue bottle so the Mandalorian could see the label. “Two a day for ten days, all of them, even if he seems much better before he’s taken them all. They’re kind of nasty, so you might want to hide it in his food.”
The Mandalorian tilted his head, considering. “He likes live frogs better, but I guess I could kill one and stuff the pill down its throat for him. I think he’d still eat it.”
Alaena blinked and blurted “What?” before she remembered she was supposed to be professional.
“I told you, he’s carnivorous,” said the Mandalorian. The baby burbled and the Mandalorian absently patted his back.
Alaena decided to leave that where it was and showed him the next two bottles. “This one’s a painkiller he should be able to safely have, and this one is a fever reducer. The computer recommended the dose but since you don’t know the species, I would try with them cut in half first, just to make sure he doesn’t have an adverse reaction.” The Mandalorian nodded, and Alaena continued. “If he does have an adverse reaction - hives, swelling, difficulty breathing - you need to take him to a medcenter immediately. I’m assuming you have a basic medpac; make sure it has an adrenaline patch in it to give him while you’re traveling to the medcenter.”
“I’ll be sure,” said the Mandalorian.
“Same thing with the antibiotics. And there can be a delayed reaction, so monitor him closely.”
The Mandalorian hiked the child a little higher on his shoulder, holding him closer. “I will.”
“I’ll copy everything over onto a data tape before I purge the information.” Alaena went over to her computer, inserting a data tape and copying all the necessary files. “Any medcenter will be able to read this if you have another issue with him.” She glanced over. “Do you have any questions?”
The Mandalorian bounced the child in his arms, who was still fussing groggily. “Anything else I should do for him?”
“Since he had blood drawn, make sure he’s getting plenty of fluids and rest. And monitor his fever closely. If it gets higher than seven degrees away from his normal temperature, take him to a medcenter.” Alaena caught an irritated chirr and couldn’t hide her smile. “I think he’ll be okay, though. Just keep an eye on him.”
She copied everything onto the tape - the blood draw, the monitor’s information, the medications, her instructions, all of it - and after a few moments it was ready, and she pulled it from the computer and pressed it into the Mandalorian’s hands. He tucked it into the bag of medications while Alaena purged the info. She turned the screen to show him. “It’s gone.”
“Information can be recovered,” said the Mandalorian doubtfully.
“We treat Cartel bigwigs here sometimes,” said Alaena. “Trust me, deleted patient info stays deleted.” The Mandalorian still looked doubtful, even through the helmet, so she added, “I’ll keep an eye out, to be safe. Anything else on you or the kid shows up, I’ll get rid of it.” She grinned. “On my honor. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
Alaena folded her arms across her chest before saying in a low voice, “Look, we Mandos gotta stick together. Clan or not, you’re my people. You get hurt, or the kid needs medical attention, and you’re in the area, come here and ask for Alaena Cadera. I’ll help you. And I won’t ask stupid questions about the helmet.”
The Mandalorian actually chuckled, to her surprise. “That’s the greatest incentive you can offer.”
Alaena’s grin was only half-hearted this time. “Whenever I miss the armor, I tell myself I at least get out of the idiots who have to comment about it.”
The Mandalorian snorted. “You’d be amazed how many people don’t have enough brains to figure out I have to take it off daily to eat.”
For herself, Alaena couldn’t imagine wearing the heavy helmet that constantly - her clan rarely bothered with them unless they were actually in combat - but she could admire the dedication. “It’d drive me crazy. Good on you for sticking with it.”
He nodded. “This is the Way.”
The child in his arms fussed, demanding attention. The Mandalorian grabbed the blanket left on the chair from earlier and wrapped him back up as best he could without setting him down. The child curled up close, still stubbornly grasping his father’s cloak, blinking slowly and whining at being jostled until he was safely swaddled; the eyes finally closed and he let out a tiny sigh that quickly turned into a soft snore.
“Good luck with him,” said Alaena. She gave the Mandalorian a reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine. He’s tough, I can tell.”
The Mandalorian nodded. “Vor entye. Ret'urcye mhi.”
“Ret'urcye mhi,” returned Alaena, and she watched the Mandalorian leave with his sleeping child until the door slid closed.
Against her better judgment, she pulled the Mandalorian pendant from under her shirt. Her father had made it for her himself, and pressed it into her hands when it was still warm from the forge. No matter how far we are from Mandalore, no matter how the Empire tries to tear us apart, no matter how the clans fight over the best way to survive, we are one people. This mythosaur skull is ours and no Empire can take that. No matter what, remember us. Remember me, daughter. We are Mandalorians.
“Oya Manda,” said Alaena quietly, and she tucked the pendant under her shirt, and went to ask Yuuli about who she would be seeing next.